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THE 






PART r. 



i 



The pleasures and the pains that memory 

brings, 
When o'er the past her pensive eye she flings, 
And musing on the days that long have fled. 
Recalls each image of the slumb'ring dead ; 
Sees Empires rise, and flourish, and decay, 
Monarchs and minions flash and fade away ; 
Ideal beauty all its bliss impart, 
And love and joy expand the human heart ; 
Pale Sorrow bathe it in her burning tears, 
Black Melancholy fill it with her fears. 
Through ev'ry age in thy delightful strain — 
Rogers — shall charm alike the sage or swain.(a) 

3 



10 

Thy pleasures, might j Love ! whohath not sung! 
Of thee have hills, and vales, and mountains rung, 
From that eventful daj in Eden's bower, 
When man first yielded to thj matchless power. 
The solitude of nature to beguile. 
And damn'd his race to win a woman's smile !(&) 
The rosy vale of Sharon felt thy sway, 
When Israel's monarch tun'd thy gentle lay ; (c) 
With thee the Muses ever lov'd to dwell, 
To thee in Greece they sounded oft the shell ; 
There gentle Sappho sung thy sweetest strains, 
And died that Phaon heeded not her pains ; 
In Rome, where Ovid wak'd his burning lyre, 
To breathe in deathless lays thy genial fire, 
Thy trials and thy triumphs grac'd the stage 
And sweird the glories of th' Augustan age. 
But purer far thy pleasures and thy pains, 
Where unsophisticated nature reigns, 
Where the bold hunter roams thro' glen or grove, 
Thy welcome smile, thy warm caress to prove. 
O'er these, soul-breathing Ossian ! thou hast flung 
The simple beauties of thy wild-wood song, 



11 

Thou Bard of sjlvan streams, and mountain 

floods, 
Of caverns dark, deep vales and gloomj woods I 

To that sweet inmate of the human breast, 
Whose whisp'rings lull its cares, its woes to rest. 
Whose cheering smile can o'er the darkest daj,^ 
Shed beams of Peace, and point to Heav'n the 

way— 
All-soothing Power! — ^has Campbell tuh'd his 

lyre, {d) 
And breath'd upon the strings a Poet's fire ; 
Her pleasures painted with such magic haud, 
What rival Bard will ever aim to stand 
On the same height his bright-ej'd Muse hath 

trod, 
With Hope, the friend of man, the child t>f God! 

Since, then, the jojs of Love I maj not sing, 
Or those that soothing Hope and Memory bring, 
ril chuse a theme, however rare it be, 
A song to cheer the child of misery ; 



12 

Along the gloomj path, the poor man's waj^ 
To shed at least one solitary raj, 
A lonelj flower to plant, where nought before, 
But thorns and briers the rugged barren bore! 
If I can sing it as it should be sung, 
'Twill do — if not, wh j let it then be flung 
With kindred rubbish on the garret floor, 
'Twill serve to stop a crack beneath a door, 
Or thro' a broken window keep the rain 
From pouring in, the whiten'd wall to stain^ 
To light a pipe, or pack a pound of snuff. 
Or form a pattern for a ladj's ruff, 
If beautj's hand maj thus but deign to use 
The idle wand'rings of a lonelj muse ! 

Come, then, sweet meditation to mj aid. 
Together let us seek some rural shade ; 
No cares that flow from wealth shall there 

intrude, 
To break the holj charm of Solitude. 
No ship at sea, the Pirate's lust of prej. 
To tempt, or sink beneath the billowy way, 



13 

Disturbs mj dreams, or rouses selfish fears, 
When sleep hath fled, and morning light appears: 
No lands, no houses, claim me for their Lord, 
No bonds, no scrip, no pelf have I to hoard 5 
No runner from a Bank, excites mj fear, 
With short-liv'd grace, and protest in the rear ; 
Not the same grace that Calvin's bosom fir'd, 
Or Protest, such as Luther's pen inspir'd — 
Far diff'rent things — for Midas and his crew, 
Have nought with graceful themes like these to 

do! 
No beggar soils the knocker of mj door. 
The child of rags, bj instinct shuns the poor ; 
No midnight robber troubles mj repose. 
For who can steal, where there is nought to lose! 

Pale Poverty ! thj Pleasures be my theme ! 
With thee in life's joung morn I learn'd to dream 
Of faded robes, disease and racking pain. 
And all the blessings that attend thj train ! 
Blessings ! methinks I hear some Croesus crj,(e) 
W^ho knows not how to live, nor dares to die ! 



14 

Whose table spread with everj daintj dish. 
Fruits of the rarest kind, and flesh and fish, 
Of everj clime, which Luxurj explores, 
From India's Isles to Nova Zembla's shores, 
Cries out to kindred spirits, if jou please, 
Come taste the sweets of gluttony and grease ! 
Each empty fool, and sycophantic knave, 
Each Parasite, well fitted for a slave; 
Each Epicurean gossip, skill'd in tales, 
Whose appetite nor story never fails, 
Rejoices at the call, and crowds the board : 
What homage to the Lady and the Lord 
They pay ; while these, to baser natures blind, 
Think the false-hearted throng grateful and kind, 
Nor dream that when their wealth and credit's 

fled. 
And they no more the festive board can spread, 
The selfish sycophants and pliant tools 
Will fly to find some other wealthy fools, 
Alike dispos'd their bounty to display, 
And fall alike of vanity the prey! 
Thus when some gallant horse or rider slain 



IB 

In battle falls upon the fatal plaiti, 
Full on the corse the clam'rous vultures light, 
And gorge with blood their rav'nous appetite. 
Nor blood alone, but make the flesh their prej. 
In mangled piece-meals tearing it awaj, 
Till nought but a dire skeleton remains, 
To bleach through winter snows and summer 
rains ! 

Now, round the festive board the gorging 
throng 
Give scope to wine, and brand j, smut and song, 
And smoke and puff*, and proudlj think the while, 
No jojs like these can Povertj beguile ! 
Ah ! sons of Pride, how little do ye know, 
From Povertj what high-born pleasures flow ! 
In sensual, gormandising scenes ye live — 
But what the flimsj jojs that these can give, 
Compar'd with such as Povertj reveals 
To all who glorj in her scantj meals, 
Her melancholj dajs, her secret tears, 
Her wajward crosses, and her manj fears, 



16 

Her thread-bare robes, like Harlequin's so gaj, 
As many eolour'd as the flow'rs of Maj ! 
From these, which fools may wonder that I sing, 
From these what great, what heav'n-like virtues 

spring ! 
Source of all beautiful, and all sublime, 
Of all that mocks the sweeping hand of Time, 
And lights the path across the drear abode. 
Between the verge of earth and throne of God! 

But let my theme be fairly understood, 
All Poverty is not the source of good. 
That which to vice and meanness is allied, 
Which dwells with dullness, vanity, and pride, 
I sing not ! But the bright, heroic mind. 
Alive to Fame, to all that's vicious blind — 
On virtue bent — that courts no vain applause. 
By nature guided, and her steady laws : 
The feeling heart, whose sacred springs o'erflow, 
Touch'd by the tale that tells of human wo. 
That scorns the brutal, and delights to find, 
Hearts like itself that kindle for mankind, 



11 

That glow with charity's celestial flame, 
And spend their pitj, where thej can't reclaim. 
Spirits like these Adversitj maj wound, 
But ne'er subdues, or chains them to the ground. 
O ! no, to them a messenger of light. 
Of love, she comes, and fits them for the fight. 
The glorious strife, that every ill defies, 
And bears them off victorious to the skies. 
The welcome voice to hear — O ! great reward ! 
Well done thou good and faithful, join thy Lord: 
Enter thou into my celestial bowers, 
Where bliss eternal wings the rosy hours, 
While fame through endless ages shall proclaim, 
On earth, th' unfading honours of thy name. 
Spirits, like these, among mankind appear, 
Like some lone flower upon a desert drear ; 
Yet such there are, the thought consoling proves, 
To him, who 'spite of Fortune, virtue loves. 
Such have I known — e'en lately as I stray'd, 
To court the silent eve, by woodland shade, 
A murmur reach'd my ear — I paus'd — again 
It came upon the breeze a pensive strain, 

3 



18 

The voice of one it was, whose brighter dajs, 
Ere he had known misfortune's troubled wajs, 
Were spent in deeds exalted and refin'd, 
To harmonize, improve, and bless mankind : 
But keenlj had he felt the shafts of wo, 
And found himself forgot bj all below, 
Save the fond dog his lonelj steps that tends, 
Alas ! that dogs are still the truest friends ! 
Yet while to Heaven he turn'd from dark des- 
pair, 
He breath'd for frail humanity a prajer : 
This was his theme, I caught it as it came. 
Warm from the heart, like some celestial flame: 



Great God ! thy will be done, tho' I am poor, 
Thj chast'ning rod I hail ! 'tis meet for me ; 
With wealth endow'd, the crowds that throng'd 

mj door. 
Left me not time to know mjself or thee ! 



19 

Led me from evVj grateful thought awaj, 
Quench'd in my soul devotion's hallow'd flame, 
Fraught was each hour, and each returning day, 
With pleasure, pride and pomp's delusive game! 

Bj petty Tyrants, and by treach'ry doom'd, 
To feel the worst of ills that man can bear, 
I look to Heaven, by Justice, Truth illum'd, 
And rest my everlasting glory there ! 

Tho' shafts of wo have pierc'd me thro' and thro' 
Yet will I scorn to yield to black despair ; 
But still the bolt of ruin calmly view. 
What God inflicts, he bids me calmly bear ! 

Tho' friends forsake, and foes my steps pursue, 
Shall foul ingratitude my bosom sting ? 
My soul shall hell-born malice e'er subdue. 
Or o'er my path one shade of darkness fling ! 

Shall pale Misfortune, with her sister band, 
Of Sorrow, Poverty, and Shame, betray, 



^0 

Great God ! mj heart to murmur, or my hand, 
To write one faithless word against thj swaj ! 

Oh ! no, be resignation still my theme, 
Tho' Pride, tho' Power, unheeded pass me bj, 
Tho' wealth and honour vanish like a dream. 
That flits across the brain, we know not why ! 

Father in Heaven ! tho' fenc'd by ev'ry ill. 
That man can feel, or feeling can deplore. 
With smiles serene, Pll bend me to thy will, 
Thy justice own — thy Providence adore ! 

Yes, gracious God ! in thee alone I trust, 
Be thou my mighty shield and buckler now 5 
Man may be false ; but thou art ever just. 
Eternal mercy shines around thy brow ! 

Receive my vows, my fainting frame sustain, 
So shall my gratitude to thee belong 5 
No more I trust the world, base, faithless, vain, 
But raise to thy pure throne the votive song ! 



21 

Yet give me still with pitj to behold 
The faults, the frailties of our fallen race. 
Their virtues write in characters of gold, 
Their vices in the fleeting sand to trace ! 

Still be it mine to taste of nature's charms, 
The softlj beautiful, the sweet sublime, 
The glow of friendship, gentle love's alarms. 
And mild Philosophy that conquers time ! 

Each difF'ring creed with candour to survey, 
Embrace the right— but leave the wrong to thee— 
The mist of error, thou canst cLase awaj, 
Thj light alone must set the captive free ! 

Yes ! on thy throne of everlasting light, 
Elate, illum'd with hope, these ejes shall pour 
Their dying beams, when death's cold hand shall 

blight 
This earthly frame, and life's last dream is o'er ! 

Thus shall my soul, on wings of rapture rise. 
Scorn the vile earth, by ev'ry reptile trod, 



23 

Expand, exult, amid celestial skies, 
And on thj bosom rest, Eternal God ! (f) 

What ! exclaims Pride, shall Poverty pretend 
To find in God a father and a friend ! 
Shall he on whom no shower of gold is pour'd, 
Dare to look up to Heaven's Eternal Lord ! 
The beauties of creation to survey, 
With rapture to behold the rising day, 
The verdant wild wood, and the mountain bare, 
The blooming field that scents the ambient aif. 
With sweets from Nature's sweetest stores dis- 

till'd. 
Till all the breathing world with joy is fiU'd ! 
The still smooth lake, the flowing river's pride. 
The gurgling stream, the cataract's roaring tide, 
The blue expanse of sky, the boundless main, 
The storms of winter, and sweet summer's reign. 
The moon's mild beams that gild the rip'ling 

wave. 
And stars that seem like worlds beyond the 

ffrave ! 



23 

The awful cloud on which Jehovah rides, 
When He the thunder hurls and lightning guides; 
The bright, all beautiful, consoling hues, 
The heavenly arch, the bow of promise, shews, 
When thro' the storm its circling glories shine; 
From God to man an everlasting sign ! [g) 

Yes ! child of Pride, of Ignorance and Pelf, 
Conceited as thou art, wrapt in thjself. 
Know that to souls like thine, if it be given 
To reap the fruits of earth : the smiles of heaven 
To those belong who tread the thornj way 
Of care, and want, and wo, from daj to day, (h) 
Who rise to speed a pilgrimage of fears. 
And drench each night their pillows in their 
tears ! 

Whom the Lord loves, he chastens bj his 
power. 
Bear witness, all je seers and saints of jore : 
Lo ! Hagar, in the solitary gloom 
Of Beersheba bewails her wretched doom, 



24 

See the fair out-cast, bending o'er her child, 
Her once lov'd features wo-begone, and wild ! 
Fruit of my faithful love ! must I resign 
Thj life ! what mother's pangs can equal mine ! 
O ! let me not behold its death, she cries, 
And fearful, rais'd to Heaven her weeping ejes; 
The Angel of the Lord look'd down and smil'd, 
And sav'd the drooping mother and her child !(^) 
So when the sons of Jacob, lur'd bj pride, 
Well nigh had stain'd their souls with fratricide. 
See Joseph, to Egyptian bondage sold. 
Come out at last like pure and polish'd gold ! 
Lo ! Dives with his wealth to hell descend 
Lo ! Lazarus in the Saviour find a friend ! 
Not rich and poor did God his creatures frame 
But male and female from his hand thej came ; 
To man the noblest gift of mind he gave, 
A form divinelj stampt, a soul to save, 
A spirit of immortal powers possessed, 
Tho' doom'd to animate a mortal breast ; 
Take courage, then, je Poor, this truth to scan. 
Mind is with God the standard of the man ; 



25 

Vice, Pride, and Follj flourish for a while, 
Wisdom survives in Heaven's eternal smile ! 

Yet not on seers and saints of old alone, 
Have Heaven's reflected rajs of glorj shone, 
Thro' all the wild vicissitudes of Time, 
Of moral darkness, and of light sublime ! 
Of Kepler's sainted spirit ask the cause, 
That led him to unravel Nature's laws ? (k) 
The sage will tell jou, from his seat on high, 
That genius fill'd his soul, and fir'd his eje, 
That Science taught him Nature to explore, 
While pale ey'd Poverty beset his door ! 

See Bacon rise, hy merit all his own. 
Till nought eclips'd him, but his Sov'reign's 

throne. 
The cloud of Poverty his youth o'ercast. 
And keenly did he feel her bitter blast — 
Rous'd at her call, with energy divine, 
At length behold him on the wool-sack shine ! 

4 



^6 

In every eye he stood the purest gem, 
That shone around the Monarch's diadem : 
Admir'd and reverenc'd bj the trulj great, 
The little envious dar'd not shew their hate. 
See those throng round him, these his presence 

shun. 
The Eagle onlj soars to meet the sun ! 
Again, behold him from that height' of power, 
Fall like a meteor, to rise no more ! 
TTie greatest, best, and brightest of mankind, (I) 
Made the bare butt of each malignant hind ! 
Coke's brutal rage, and faction's fiercest hate, 
Combin'd to trample on his fallen state, 
While the shrewd monarch, urg'd hy courtly 

fears. 
Dreading to hear his sighs, or heed his tears. 
Stood trembling, half resolv'd t' arrest his fate, 
And save the sage, who oft had sav'd the state ! 
Behold him, like Napoleon, forlorn, (m) 
Of wealth, of honours, and of glorj shorn, 
Bearded hy everj Ass, hy everj slave 
Insulted ! driven to invoke the grave, 



21 

A refuge from the frowns of upstart power, 
Dispens'd bj tools, the insects of an hour ! 
Such is the faith of Princes, so we're told, 
And warn'd to trust them not, by seers of old l(n) 

Bacon, great Father of the Modern Schools, 
The' once the taunt of knaves and jest of fools! 
Well didst thou trust the honours of thj name, 
To foreign nations, and to future fame ! 
No rival now, like Coke, bj envj stung. 
With mean, malicious heart and sland'rous 

tongue, 
No villain, who solicited in vain, 
Bj gifts, a foul, unhallowed cause to gain, 
No treach'rous knave, who plaj'd a friendlj 

part. 
While dark revenge was rankling in his heart, 
Can soil th' unrivall'd splendour of thj name, 
Or steal one tittle of thj sainted fame ! 

Thy pangs, then, Povertj, let fools proclaim, 
Strangers to all of glorj but the name ! 



28 

Cowards, who shrink from Heaven's all-wise 

decree, 
And vainlj murmur that they are not free 
From penurj and pain, and ev'rj wo, 
That everj grade of life is doom'd to know, 
From him who sways an empire bj his nod, 
Down to the beetle in the dust that's trod ! 

Who nourish'd Cineinnatus to be great, 
Who taught the sage to save a sinking state, 
Did wealth, did luxury the boon impart. 
That fir'd his mind, and nerv'd his dauntless heartf 
No ! 'twas the labour of the plough that gave 
Strength to his arm,, and that which made him 

brave. 
The morning toil, the frugal meal at noon, 
Grac'd bj no silver cup, nor golden spoon, 
No gilded plate, no gaudj shew was seen, 
But gourd-shell bowls, and wooden dishes clean, 
Serv'd the great Chief, whose valiant arm sus- 

tain'd 
His country's rights, and her just laws maintain'd, 



29 

Whose eloquence the birth-proud Senate led, 
Before whose sword the fierce barbarian fled ! 

Behold jon stately mansion, proud and high, 
It rears its walls, as if to mock the skj. 
Before it widely spreads a verdant lawn, 
And various shrubs and trees its walks adorn, 
Flowers of all hues send forth their fragrance 

there, 
And fill with balmj sweets th' ambient air. 
Now, if jou ask, for whom is all this show. 
To please whose senses all these flow'rets grow, 
Whose pride to gratifj these statelj trees 
Wave their high branches to the passing breeze: 
Be patient, I'll the honest truth declare. 
The while to hear it need not make jou stare. 
I hope you've learn'd enough at least to know, 
That selfishness delights in emptj show. 
There dwells a Demagogue, of human kind 
The foe — to all but low ambition blind ; 
Once he was humble, and amid the crowd 
Could social seem, and no one tho't him proud — 



30 

Power was his aim — ^^humilitj — he said — 
Will serve ambition best, and thaf s mj trade ! 
ril court the populace with winning smiles, 
Till I can catch the rascals in my toils 5 
And if among the crowd I chance to find, 
Some one hy nature gen'rous, just, and kind, 
Some son of genius, him I'll make my friend, 
And use his talents till I gain my end : 
That, once obtain'd, remorseless from my door 
I'll turn him off, nor wish to see him more. 
15id him begone, the simple honest fool. 
Too candid friend, too independent tool : 
'Tis thus we demagogues our debts repaj, 
Thus wipe old scores of gratitude awaj. 
For every honest friend we turn adrift, 
Some supple knave stands ready at a shift. 
Our nod, our will to do, in what we please, 
In dirty work to wade up to the knees. 
Or deeper still, if we but say the word. 
And make the caitiff sure of his reward ! 
The lab'ring hand is worthy of its hire. 
And wretches that will labour in the mire 



31 

Of Faction foul, their country to betraj, 
Are ever sure of work and readj paj ! 
Saj, son of honest Poverty confessed, 
Pale is thj cheek, and meanlj art thou drest 5 
Yet on thj brow sits Pride that never bends 
To sanctifj a villain's treacherous ends ! 
Saj, would'st thou not, all ragged as thou art. 
And pale with want, disdain so vile a part, 
In life's brief drama, as the Ingrate plays, 
Who while he bribes his foe, his friend betrajs ! 
Bj Heaven tho' pomp and power his steps at- 
tend. 
And sycophants feel proud to call him friend ] 
Tho' fools do constant homage at his shrine, 
And vainlj dream their idol half divine, 
Tho .naves as false as hell around him throng, 
And flatt'rj soothe him with her sjren song, 
Still humble, honest Poverty disdains 
The wretch to flatter, or to wear his chains. 

AvARo, saj some sixty years ago. 
Was born, tho' where it heeds us not to know ; 



32 

But if jon brilliant, far fam'd spot of earth, 

The soil of heroes, gave the creature birth. 

We blush, and well we maj, to think her fame 

Should e'er be tarnish'd bj so foul a name ! 

Among her worthies. Green and Perrj shine. 

And Williams, and a long illustrious line 

Of patriots, heroes, chiefs, whose names reveal. 

All that can glorifj the common weal ! 

Pitj, indeed, that genial spot of earth. 

So fair, so fam'd, should give a miser birth ; 

Yet so it is — to him of whom I speak. 

Each Christian virtue sounds like Heathen 

Greek, 
He knows no glorj, but the lust of gain. 
No merit meets that does not give him pain : 
In private, o'er his bags of paltrj pelf 
He sighs, the J are so small — so like himself? 
And jet without a sigh, he grinds the poor. 
And turns the wretched beggar from his door ! 
That beggar who, like Lazarus, maj rise. 
To scenes of glory, 'mid celestial skies, 



39 

While the same fate, that Dives erst befell, 
Maj be Avaro's in the shades of hell ! 

Ye sons of Penurj no more repine, 
If with Avaro, in each dirtj mine, 
Too proud to dig, jou loathe each groveling art, 
And scorn to act the mean oppressor's part ! 
If honest Fame, alone, ye still pursue, 
And still despise the mercenary crew ; 
Whj, then, rejoice that unto you is given, 
The perils of the earth — the prize of Heaven ! 

Lo ! to the wave of Ganges, pale and wild. 
The hopeless mother brings her famish'd child 5 
Shrivell'd bj want, the liquid fount is drj, 
That should the tender infant's food supplj ! 
Her spirit fails, she sits her down to weep, 
In silent anguish views the child — the deep— - 
Alas ! no friend appears, no arm to save, 
She jields her infant to the jawning wave ! 
Such are thj triumphs o'er distracted m'nds, 
Despair! more deaf than rocks or roaring winds! 

5 



34 

Turn we to Europe, where the Black Sea laves 
The Cresent soil, or where th' Atlantic waves 
Roll on the shores of Holj Christian Kings, 
And still the view no purer pleasure brings ! 
Here' the poor peasant delves and toils in vain; 
There the lorn captive hugs his galling chain : 
Here Kings and Priests to crush mankind com- 
bine, 
There the proud Turk pursues the same design, 
Bathes in the blood of innocence his sword, 
And calmlj quotes the Ijing Prophet's word 1 
O ! Greece, where has thine ancient glorj fled. 
Sleeps it forever with the mighty dead ! 
Mute in Demosthenes's narrow grave, 
Thj eloquence that once could warm the brave ! 
Shall Scio's desolated walls proclaim. 
That Spartan valour's but an empty name ! 
Shade of Leonidas ! arise once more. 
And drive th' fierce barbarian from thy shore ! 
Columbian Youth ! your grateful voices raise, 
With all the heart to shout Jehovah's praise ! 



35 

To you fair Science opens all her stores, 
Her Temples hail jou welcome to their doors I 
Here the poor 'prentice boj maj freelj learn 
Science from Bacon, wit frpm Swift or Sterne ; (o) 
From Pale J, how to act the moral part ; 
From Blair, the piety that warms the heart ; 
With Euclid trace each mathematic line, 
With Newton soar where stars and planets shine! 
Thrice happy youth ! who form the rising age, 
Shall penury repress your noble rage ?(^) 
Perish the thought ! aspire to glorious deeds, 
Seek no dark covert, when your country bleeds; 
Love wealth, but only as it aids to fame. 
Be no mean art, no sordid vice your aim. 
Is Poverty your lot, 'tis no disgrace. 
Better be poor, than of a scoundrel race. 
Let no vile demagogue your minds control, 
Indignant spurn the servitude of soul ; 
Fetters and chains may curb the limbs in vain, 
If free the current of the soul remain : 
Honour yourselves, virtue and worth befriend, 
With means and motives pure, fear not the end , 



36 

Tho' friends betraj, and open foes prevail, 
Tho' factious wrath, and tjrant power assail 5 
Still Truth maintain, nor heed the giddj throng, 
Bj passion led, too often in the wrong ; 
Disdain their clamour, every ill defy. 
For Truth to live, for Truth, if call'd, to die ! 
One theme, one mighty theme, demands your 

zeal, 
Freedom, humanity, the common weal, 
All cry aloud, O ! listen to their voice, 
And bid the captive's sinking heart rejoice ! 
Wipe from your statutes, ere another age 
Shall pass, the barbarous, the feudal page, 
That sanctions foul oppression of the poor, 
And brings the honest debtor to the door, 
Where crime alone should enter — there to feel 
What 'tis with mercenary men to deal ; 
Men void of feeling, save their paltry hate, 
Men who forget their former mean estate ; 
And puflf'd with pride, with low revenge at heart, 
Like Upstarts, play the petty tyrant's part j 



37 

Oppress their victim with a heavy hand, 
With Shjlock, still the pound of flesh demand ! 
How keen the pangs that rend the gen'rous soul, 
Thro' barb'rous law that feels the base control 
Of some rude, vulgar mind, no bliss that knows, 
But such as from the love of lucre flows ! 
Who hears, but heeds not, the lorn captive's sigh, 
Beholds unmov'd the tear that dims his eje ! 
Who severs ties, to love, to nature dear, 
Vile slave of mammon, and of sordid fear ! 
O ! would jou, then, improve the rising age, 
Blot from jour laws, this foul, polluted page ! 
'Tis time 'twere done, already far too long 
Has mean oppression triumph'd in its wrong ! 
Nor be alone to jour peculiar kind, 
Your zeal for Nature's lib'ral laws confin'd ; 
But bid the son of Afric break his chain, 
And freelj tread his native soil again ; 
Make each blind tjrant know, 'tis God's decree, 
That Man^ His image, is and shall be free! 

END OF PART I. 



THE 



pit uiiwirf ^ 0f p#i»f rt^< 



PART II, 



Edmond was once his country's fav'rite child, 
Of her alone he thought ; for her he toil'd ; 
Each step of power successively attain'd, 
And each successive step proudly maintained ! 
But count the cost; ambition rarely stays 
To count how great the loss, the price she pays ; 
Lur'd by the distant height, that gilded seems, 
With glittering wealth, and honour's brighter 

beams ! 
Ye Poor, behold, but envy not their state 5 
Ye little know what ills betide the great. 
He who array'd in splendid pomp appears, 
Instead of envy, rather claims your tears ! 



40 

He knows no rest ; forever round his door, 
The throng of clamorous expectants pour, 
Boasting of all, and more, that the j have done, 
To raise him to his present stepping stone. 
For jou, sajs one, I've toil'd thro' daj and night 
And now, behold ! I'm in a wretched plight, 
My monej gone, my credit, and my fame, 
And all to gain for jou a splendid name ! 
The braggart scarcely ends his vap'ring tale 
Ere loud successive raps the door assail, 
Another comes, with scars all cover'd o'er. 
But then thej are behind— not one before — 
Yet loudlj does he boast of deeds he's done. 
Of sieges laid, towns storm'd, and battles won, 
All by his mightj arm ! But O ! how stale 
And flat to Edmond is the nauseous tale I 
Full well he knows, but fails to speak his mind, 
The buUj that before him stands, is blind 
To honest Fame, a coward at the best. 
Of all the truly brave the standing jest; 
Yet he in times of turbulence is bold, 
Among the crowd, like Thersytes of old— 



41 

And leads some honest voters, -simple tools, 
To shout for whom he pleases at the polls ! 
And yet another, and another comes ; 
More clam'rous than a thousan4.trumps or drums 
Their voices sound to him, who no repose. 
No respite can obtain from such-like woes ! 
In vain he strives to go — he rings the bell — 
Up comes a servant — Thomas, prithee tell 
The coachman he must haste to tackle up 5 
For with a friend I go abroad to sup : 
But still the waiting crowd of brawling knaves, 
Refuse to take the hint — they are no slaves — 
Not the J — thej must and will be heard! — O! 

Lord, 
If this be power, cries Edmond, take mj word, 
I'd rather flj to some wild desert shore. 
To country, kindred, friends return no more ! 
Nor plagues, like these alone, perplex his mind, 
He must be deaf bj turns, bj turns be blind ; 
Must wear a mask among the courtlj tribe, 
And stoop to flatter fools, and knaves to bribe; 

6 



42 

At levees sweat, and simper with the crowd, 
Whisper his honest thoughts, and speak aloud 
The thing he thinks not ! What a gilded slave ! 
Who would not rather flj to some deep cave 
On tow'ring Andes, or some desert isle, 
Than thus to bask in power's deceitful smile ! 
Yea ! sooner chuse with Snakes a drear abode. 
Or, blind and halting, beg upon the road, 
Than thus to barter for an empty song — 
A name among the base, intriguing throng — 
Or popular applause — the honest jojs, 
That humble toil bestows — but pride destroys ! 

Lo ! comes a storm to shake the moral world, 
Her elements are in confusion hurl'd ! 
As the tall oak is bj the tempest laid, 
Whilst the low shrub in safety rears its head ]{q) 
So in the storms that revolutions bring, 
Far safer is the peasant than the King ! 
See one his little flocks in safety feed. 
The other on the scaffold doom'd to bleed ! 



43 

Such was the tempest, the ill-fated land 
That swept, where Edmond held his high com- 
mand, 
He saw the blast approach — and sav'd his head— 
Tho' doom'd in Exile, foreign shores to tread ; 
To forfeit each bright hope, each high desire, 
To walks of toil, and humble life retire ! 
But does he mourn his fate, je simple poor. 
Who envied his exalted state before ! 
No, happj change ! his time is all his own, 
He feels in life a charm before unknown : 
Tho' stript of splendour, such as dazzles courts, 
He finds true happiness in rural sports. 
No palace, but a cottage, now affords 
Shelter to him, who once with Kings and Lords 
Associate, gave to fashions, laws, their tone ; 
Yet knew no peaceful moment as his own ! 
His calm retreat on jonder hill is seen, 
And there his children sport upon the green. 
His cottage door o'erlooks the lovelj vale, 
Thro' which fair Hudson winds : Each whiten'd 
sail, 



44 

Her bosom bears, sheds o'er the rural scene, 
A magic influence, and a sweet serene, 
Across the vale, what verdant beauties spread. 
Till Catskill lifts aloft its awful head, 
Its rockj wild, that storms and time defies, 
Its everlasting towers that kiss the skies ! 
These o'er the landscape fling their bolder 

charms. 
Sublime effect, that Edmond's bosom warms ; 
With pure devotion's flame inspires his breast. 
And calmlj points to Heaven's Eternal rest ! 
His arbour, blest with lovelj woman's smile 
He ne'er repines that he is doom'd to toil, 
The smile that cheers the labour of the field, 
Can still a purer bliss, a pleasure jield. 
Unknown to courts ; when turning to his muse, 
Her trembling strings no wonted sound refuse, 

Or when with mild Philosophy he holds 
Converse that ever charms exalted souls : 
Or still more blest, behold the happj pair, 
Each Sabbath at the village church appear, 



45 

And with them to the holj altar bring 
Their blooming flock, the praise of God to sing. 
With pious awe thej catch the pleasing sound. 
As from the good man's lips it flows around, 
And tells of blessings for the just to come. 
Of everlasting joj bejond the tomb ! 
Is this not bliss, if bliss on earth there be, 
From pride, parade, and selfish grandeur free, 
To till the soil, made kind hj genial showers, 
To watch the budding fruits, the op'ning flowers. 
To ramble freelj thro' the blooming fields, 
And count the jojs the bounteous harvest jields, 
To taste the sweets that scent each passing 

breeze. 
With no foul wish, no cold intrigue, to freeze 
The current of the soul, as warm it flows, 
And now with love, and now with friendship 

glows ! 
Like Abram, leaning on his staff*, to raise 
To Heaven the song of gratitude and praise. 
Or erst as Adam did, in Eden's bower, 
Hold high communion with Eternal Power ! 



46 

Where'er we ramble thro' her blissful fields, 
We find no joj, no boon that nature yields. 
That is not free to all who own her name, 
Who from her stores parental bountj claim. 
Love, friendship, filial faith, blest marriage ties, 
Everj sweet flower, that blooms beneath the 

skies ! 
Clasps not the poor man to his feeling breast, 
The child he loves with full as warm a zest, 
As he, who flush'd with pride, with wealth o'er- 

grown, 
Vainlj believes no offspring like his own ! 
Spirit of Selfishness, whence comest thou, 
Fiend of the marble heart, and wrinkled brow ! 
To scowl at everj blessing but thine own. 
As though Heaven's gifts descend for thee alone. 
Go, cease thj grovelling, malignant pain. 
Or get thee to thj native hell again ! 

Imagination ! what bright worlds are thine ! 
Skies ever smiling — Suns that ever shine— 



47 

Where are thj bounds ! Before thee oceans roll, 
Thj range from Heaven to Earth, from pole to 

pole. 
Unfading Pleasure, thy wide Empire yields, 
Eternal is the verdure of thj fields, 
Thj fruits forever grow, and flow'rets bloom, 
And undeeajing is their sweet perfume. 
The deeps their treasures keep not from thj 

view, 
Thine are Earth's hidden mines of golden hue ; 
Thj visions into hell's dark shades extend. 
Heaven's sweetest hues in thj bright halo blend ! 
Thj fairj realms — are thej forbidden ground 
To him who's doom'd to tread the toilsome 

round 
Of Povertj ! Is Pride, is Wealth alone, 
Licens'd to bend and worship at thj throne ! 
O ! no, let Milton, Burns, and Shakspeare tell 
How freelj thej have roam'd thro' ev'rj dell, 
Paus'd at each blooming grove and flow'r j mead, 
Each winding stream and glassj lake survej'd, 



48 

Of thj bright region ev'r j height explor'd, 
At all thj altars worshipped and ador'd ! 

If melodj delight the human mind, 
Saj, is the poor man to its beautj blind ? 
To him the song, the cjmbal, is as free. 
As to the child of proud prosperity. 
Thrills not his bosom to the sounds he loves, 
The organ's swell — the music of the groves — 
The rain that patters on his humble wall, 
The murmur of the winds, the surge's fall, 
The flute's soft tones, the pipe's sweet miri- 

strelsj, 
Th' inspiring fife, the drum's loud reveille, 
Or the hoarse trumpet's war resounding notes, 
When on the gale the blood j banner floats ! 
Oh ! is there not a sweet, but mournful tone, 
^olian harp, that's breath'd bj thee alone ? 
Softlj sublime, as tho' a seraph sung. 
When on the silent eve thj voice is flung, 
The requiem of departed bliss it seems ; 
And jet like Fancj's sweetest, wildest dreams 



49 

Of love, and hope, and melancholj joj, 
It steals upon the soul ! O ! blest emploj 
Of broken hearts, to listen to its laj, 
'Twill heal jour wounds, 'twill chase jour griefs 
awaj ! 

The jojs of Love, are thej not doublj thine, 
Ye poor ! whose health, whose spirits ne'er 

decline 
Thro' luxurj or vice, who never know 
The nervous ills from indolence that flow. 
Toil is jour doom ] but from that verj toil, 
Thro' jour full veins behold the pur§ blood boil ; 
Your tender feelings know no base control, 
Yours is the love that springs from soul to soul, 
No marriage contract, seal'd bj sordid pride, 
E'er to jour altars leads th' unwilling bride ! 
Yours is the generous, uncorrupted sigh, 
The vow sincere, the rapture speaking eje, 
The heart in love, that knows no selfish guile, 
The ruddj face, that wears no treacherous 

smile, 

. 7 



50 

Free as the air, jour fond affections flow, 
Dance in the veins, and in the warm cheek 

glow! 
Yes ! child of Poverty, be thine the strain, 
To sing of Love's resistless, pleasing pain. 
With nerves well strung, with spirits light and 

Briskl J je carol off the votive lay : — 



O ! LoTE, thou smiling cherub bright, 
Mj theme by daj, my dream bj night : 
Welcome to me thy rosy chains, 
Thrice welcome all thy tender pains : 
As springs to thirsty travellers dear, 
So is to me thy pensive tear ; 
As summer showers to fields when dry. 
So is to me thy gentle sigh : 
As rays of light, in dungeons deep, 
Are haird by wretches there that weep, 



51 

So are thj smiles to him who knows 
How sweet thj pleasures and thj woes !' 

Be thou mj solace whilst I live, 
Give all the pleasure thou canst give ; 
And when the fatal hour shall come 
That calls me to the silent tomb ; 
When at my side sits dark despair, 
And frightful ghosts seem hovering near, 
Be there my parting soul to soothe. 
Be there to make my death-bed smooth, 
Be there to prove that thou art true, 
Be there to breathe a sweet adieu ! 
And ere my frame in dust be laid, 
Think not thj last fond dutj paid 
Till thou hast sought some gentle steep. 
Where vines of grape, and strawberry creep, 
Whose verdant side, for ever gaj, 
Kiss'd bj the parting beams of daj, 
In nature's bloom shall smile serene, 
Whilst nature owns a smiling scene ! 



52 

There gentlj laj my bones to rest, 
And raise the green-sward o'er mj breast : 
There deck mj grave with sweetest flowers 
From garden gaj and wild wood bow'rs ! 
Let there no deadly night-shade grow, 
No weeping willow, bending low, 
No sign of wail or wo be seen. 
To break upon the sweet serene ; 
But there the earlj birds of spring 
Alight their am'rous lays to sing, 
At dawn of daj, at twilight hour, 
Still maj the warbling songsters pour 
Around that fane, to love so dear. 
Such strains as love delights to hear, 
And when the flowers of summer die, 
Let evergreens their place supply. 
That still thro' every changing scene 
Cf winter grej, or summer green. 
That tranquil, hallow'd spot, may prove 
The smiling monument of Love !(r) 



5S 

Friendship — among the great an emptj name, 
What courtier ever felt thy steadj flame ? 
What heart to wild ambition wed, can feel 
The calm delight, or share the gen'roiis zeal, 
Thj vot'ries know, when to th j hallow'd shrine 
Thej come, each sordid motive to resign ; 
To mingle soul with soul, and freelj blend 
Each raj of feeling in the name of Friend. 
If e'er thj gen'rous, gentle reign be found 
Among the sons of men on earthlj ground. 
Far from the walks and mansions of the great, 
It seeks the silent vale, and humble state, 
Lightens the soldier's march, the sailor's toil, 
Wakes on the honest ploughman's face a smile, 
Cheers the mechanic as he plies his trade. 
Warms the fond bosom of the lowl j maid, 
'Circles the fire-side of the lab'ring poor. 
Hovers around the peaceful cottage door ! 
O ! heaven descended spirit, never leave 
The gen'rous mind in solitude to grieve ! 
Diffuse thj healing balm to all who know. 
But merit not to feel, the shafts of wo, 



54 

Bid the lorn heart resign its gloomj fear, 
Wipe from the pallid cheek the trembling tear! 
The fallen, broken spirit, raise, revive, 
Bid it again to smile, rejoice and live ! 

Lo! swells the trump of Freedom on the plain, 
The hills re-echo back the glorious strain. 
Her votaries, exulting, catch the sound. 
The cause ! the cause I the j crj, to arms thej 

bound ! 
When once 'tis fix'd, to die, or live a slave. 
Death has no sting, no terror for the brave ! 
Who then the strongest feels the gen'rous flame, 
Who presses foremost to the field of fame ! 
Whose is the keenest pleasure when the song 
Of triumph to her banners pours along 
The distant vale ? Let Andre's captors tell 
How quicklj did their peasant bosoms swell 
With loftj scorn ! O ! with what high disdain. 
When tempted to a treach'rous deed in vain, 



55 

Thej spurn'd the bribe the captive would have 

giv'n, 
Their countrj sav'd, and won the smile of 

heav'n l(s) 
Nor jet shall Andre's fate alone proclaim, 
How dear to Povertj is Freedom's name — 
How " a brave jeomanrj, their country's pride," 
Fought bj her banners, bj her banners died ! 
Humble their names, their property but small, 
Yet glorious was the risk, it was their all ! 
Long shall the hillocks of their lowly graves, 
Rise, the reproach of tjrants and of slaves ! 
O ! for a muse of energy and fire, 
An angel's voice to breathe upon the lyre. 
To sing th' immortal names that swell the train 
Of those, who doom'd to penury and pain. 
Still bravely strove to aid the common weal, 
And died their love of liberty to seal ! 
Lo ! Socrates the deadly drug defy, 
And Cicero in exile doom'd to die !(^) 
See Sidney's patriot blood the scaifold stain, 
And mark the melancholy fate of Paine l(u) 



56 

Paine ! at thj name what splendid visions rise ! 
Once we could hail, and laud it to the skies, 
Chained to a tjrant's car, we strove in vain, 
Till thj electric touch dissolv'd the chain ! 
O ! hadst thou then the debt of nature paid, 
What incense still would rise to greet thj shade ! 
No bigot's wrath would light upon thj tomb, 
But freedom's laurel there for ever bloom ! 
Soil'd bj no slander, venomous and rude, 
Free from the blight of foul ingratitude ! 
Ungrateful still, if Princes ever prove, 
Who can secure a fickle people's love ! 
Of those in Seventy-six who led the van, 
And bravelj struggled for the rights of man, 
Not Paine alone was doom'd to feel the dart 
Of curst ingratitude transfix the heart ! 
Brave, but eccentric Lee, ill-fated name ! 
Tho' dear to virtue, libertj and fame -^{v) 
Sincere as brave, not form'd to act a part, 
Of open, gen'rous, unsuspecting heart ; 
When danger press'd, not ling'ring in the rear, 
Stain'd bj no treach'rous gUilt, no coward fear, 



57 

For one mistake alone, and that were all, 

At worst, O ! fickle fortune ! dooin'd to fall ! 

To feel the weight of persecution's blow, 

And sink, alas ! beneath a cloud of wo ! 

Bj friends forsaken, and bj foes pursu'd. 

That mightj heart, at last hy grief subdu'd : 

O ! that I were a dog ! the hero cried, 

That might not man my brother call ! and died ! 

Died in a hovel, he that once had shone 

The pride of courts, to love and glor j known. 

Ere to Columbia's shores he bent his way. 

To fight for Freedom, and to fall the prej 

Of vile ingratitude, the foulest crime. 

So stampt in ev'rj age, and ev'rj clime ! 

If it be true that God beholds with pride, 

A great man bravely struggling with the tide 

Of adverse fortune, on a stormj sea, 

The jojs of Heaven are thine, immortal Lee ! 

When Adam from the blooming bow'r was 
driv'n 
With her for whom he lost the jojs of heaven 5 

8 



58 

When all was gloom, Hope lent her cheering raj 
To light the rebel wand'rers on their way : 
And thro' life's path, Affliction still hath found 
In Hope a soothing balm for ev'rj wound. 
On jou, ye Poor, her peaceful rajs descend, 
In her jou ever find a constant friend. 
The rich are e'er pursu'd bj haggard Fear, 
While Hope attends jour darkest daj to cheer : 
Thej dream of Ruin, and her sable train. 
And know no pleasure unalloj'd bj pain : 
While JOU to visions of delight resign 
The solitude of night : O ! bliss divine ! 
When dreams of glor j hover round the bed, 
Where the lorn child of Sorrow rests his head ! 
Yes! child of Penurj, Hope is thine own. 
Bright as she came from Heaven's eternal throng, 
To light her fires in the desponding breast, 
And guide the wear j to the realms of rest ! 

One stream of light, of everlasting jo j. 
Pleasure unmingled, bliss without alloj, 
Descends upon the poor man's path to shine. 



59 

Yes ! unto him alone, hy right divine, 
The legacy belongs : To him 'tis giv'n, 
Religion, brightest, eldest born of heaven ! 
Thus runs the high bequest — rejoice to whom 
It comes, jour dark sojourning to illume — 
Bless' d he ye poor, no longer weep nor sigh, 
Yours is the kingdom, founded, built on high,(w) 
Whose mansionsknow not care, nor want, nor wo, 
Whose rivers of delight for ever flow ; 
Whose broad, eternal turrets rise and shine, 
Around the throne of Him who is Divine ! 
Seize, child of Poverty, the precious boon, 
With rapture seize, and make its jojs jour own : 
And while with Faith jou clasp it to jour breast, 
Pitj the rich, for whom no heavenlj rest, 
But wo, and wo alone, the lines proclaim. 
As flowing from the Saviour's lips thej came : 
Wo unto you that now your revels keep, 
The time shall come, when ye shall mourn and 

weep ! 
Hope of immortal life ! of source divine, 
The jo J from thee that springs who would resign! 



60 

O ! who could bear from kindred souls to part, 
If that dread word — Eternal ! — on the dart 
Of death emblazon'd — spoke the Almightj will, 
The spirit with its earthlj frame to kill ! 
For ever ! O ! for ever ! to resign 
The lover and the friend to death's dark mine ! 
What Stoic could sustain the shock and live, 
What heart so cold, that could the blow survive ! 
Belov'd Orlando ! once mj earthlj joj ! 
Lost ! but not lost for ever ! brilliant boj ! 
Can I the fond, delightful hope resign, 
That thj blest spirit jet maj meet with mine. 
O, no ! that hope destroj'd, a pang would give, 
'Twere worse to feel, than with the damn'd to 
live ! 

And thou sweet Solitude, of aspect mild, 
Dear are thj tranquil shades to Sorrow's child, 
The soothing balm thj silent bowers bestow 
On all who're doora'd to taste the cup of wo ! 
Who can denj to Penurj's sad train, 
Or drive them to the sneering world again. 



61 

When pale and lonely, to enjoj the sweets 
Of pensive thought, thej seek thj calm retreats ! 
Devotion's friend ! Devotion's sister thou ! 
Without thee she is but an emptj show 5 
But when she comes within thj hallow'd shade, 
Then are her vows with holj rapture paid 5 
Lur'd bj no revel, no profane emploj, 
God is her onlj source of peace and joj! 
Thus shall she ever in thj footsteps tread ; 
Give us, we pray, this day, our daily bread : 
Go je, said Christ, and breathe this prajer 

alone, 
Sure proof — Devotion — Solitude — are one !(a?) 

If, then, the sympathies, the loves that flow 
From Nature, in the poor man's bosom glow, 
Warmer than those that wealth's proud puppet 

feels, 
Whose heart the love of filthy lucre steels : 
Why mourn the loss of artificial joys, 
Pride's empty bubbles, Folly's tinselled toys, 



62 

Why sigh to leave the quiet, humble shade, 
Where no rude jars of avarice invade : 
But calmlj blissful passes off the day ; 
Night brings no care to steal its sleep awaj ; 
No thorn to pierce its pillow of repose, 
No dream of present or of dreaded woes ! 
Saj, what true advocate of Nature's dower — 
Sweet Liberty ! — what foe of lawless power — 
What friend of human rights, of human ties, 
What candidate for bliss bejond the skies— 
A lot so mild, so happj, would exchange. 
Amid the selfish, jarring world to range ; 
But for the glorious triumph that attends 
His name who fearlessly his race befriends. 
Who plajs his part, not for himself alone, 
Not like the worthless demagogue or drone : 
But soaring far above all meaner aims, 
Bj the great good he does, his glorj claims ! 

Companion of the toil-worn son of want, 
Can tjrant power thj gallant spirit daunt ! 



Conscious of worth, tho' Pride maj pass thee bj, 
It cannot quench the fire that lights thine eje ; 
It cannot make thee bend tlij manlj brow, 
Nor chill the crimson current in its flow 
Thro' the brave heart that warms thj gen'rous 

breast. 
That heart alive to woes that know no rest ; 
Yet scorning still to sink beneath the weight 
Of man's ingratitude, or woman's hate, 
Sees some bright star beam o'er the land or wave, 
That leads it on to glorj or the grave 

Lo ! from thj humble floor see Franklin rise, 
And bend his way exulting to the skies ! 
Bj Heaven design'd thj triumphs to make 

known 
To distant shores, to shake a mightj throne ! 
The fearless boj, without a friend to guide 
His wand'ring waj, forsook a mother's side, 
O'er the wide world to seek for glorious fame, 
Or sink into the grave without a name. 



64 

Who then his guide, his guardian angel prov'd, 
Who sav'd from ev'rj snare, the boj she lov'd ; 
'Twas Poverty that urg'd, and led the waj, 
His pillar oi' fire by night, and cloud by day ! 
But ah ! had wealth around his cradle spread 
Her glitt'ring charms — full o'er his infant head 
Her laurels thrown — her poppj wreaths en- 

twin'd — 
Laurels and wreaths, that blast the lire of mind ! 
Had luxurj led him in her favoured bowers. 
As jouth advanc'd, to sacrifice his hours 
To wanton sports — had pale Want never known, 
Or claim'd the child of Genius for her own ; 
Oh ! where had been the glorj of his name. 
Where the immortal pillars of his Fame ! 
What trembling tjrant e'er had felt his frown ; 
What thought of his had brought the lightning 

down. 
From Heaven's eternal sphere, to guide its 

course, 
Disarm its furj, and resist its force ! 



65 

The world had known him not, Columbia's pride, 
Without a deed, or name, had liv'd and died ! 
But not with Franklin, shall thj triumphs end, 
O ! Poverty ! celestial guide and friend 
Of worth, of genius ! still some mightj name, 
From age to age, thj glorj shall proclaim ! 
Some sage, like Milton, seize it for his own, 
Till the bright record reach th' eternal throne ! 
And seraphs their harmonious voices raise 
To chaunt thj fame in everlasting lajs ! 

Yet must impartial truth forbid the muse, 
The well-earn'd meed of justice to refuse ; 
To slander wealth, or libel honest fame. 
She scorns — more just, more gen'rous is her aim. 
There are, there have been, 'mid wealth's 

glitt'ring train, 
Pure hearts, to feel for penurj and pain, 
To jield sweet solace to the child of wo, 
Minist'ring messengers of Heaven below ! 
One splendid name now rises to mj laj, 
O ! could my feeble muse that name pourtraj. 



66 

Fair as it beam'd on earth, bright as it shone, 
Ere Heaven reclaim'd, and made the gift its own! 
Collins ! can I forget thj sainted shade,(^) 
No ! let the debt of gratitude be paid ! 
Pride of my native Isle, she knew thee well, 
How manj of her sons thj worth can tell ! 
Patron of genius ! thine the orphan's prayer ; 
The poor man's gen'rous wish ; the widow's tear 
Of gratitude ; bright gem of pearl j hue. 
Heaven's witness what to earth's best friend is 

due! 
Thou, like Maecenas, cull'd each modest flower, 
From the cold shade, to deck the genial bower : 
Bade them in warm, unclouded skies to bloom, 
And breathe upon the world their sweet per- 
fume. 
My Father ! once a poor, unletter'd boj, 
A lonelj orphan, 'reft of ev'ry joj, 
Ow'd to thj goodness all that grac'd his name, 
Fair science, public worth, and honest fame. 
To Poverty, shall I then strike the lyre. 
Forgetful of my lov'd, lamented sire ; 



67 

Or thee, one fond, one grateful strain refuse, 
No ! perish first the minstrel and the muse ! 
Yon lovelj isle still mourns the fatal daj, 
When, weeping, she beheld thee borne awaj, 
To join the dead, in earth's cold bosom laid, 
While Heaven's bright portals hail'd thj fleet- 
ing shade ! 
Well maj she mourn, where'er she turns her e yea, 
She sees some graceful monument arise, 
Rear'd bj thj bounty, fo adorn her name. 
Improve her virtues, and exalt her fame ! 
Be thou, O ! lovelj isle, for ever true, 
To him, who more than faithful prov'd to you ! 
Each fond, each bright memorial of his fame, 
Preserve with pious care : Let not his name 
Be lost, amid the wreck that time shall bring. 
But ever with th' fairest flowers of spring 
Deck the green sod, that o'er his bosom blooms ; 
And when the passing stranger seeks your 

tombs — 
Point to the consecrated spot where lies — 
Collins — the just, the gen'rous, and the wise, 



68 

Cease now my strain, my solitarj song, 
Henceforth far difF'rent toils to me belong ; 
Yet be it not despis'd — The Poor Man's Lay — 
If to one heart the moral find its waj : 
If but one child of Povertj my page 
Urge to a deed that shall adorn the age : 
If some bright jouth, of high and gen'rous aim, 
Shall inspiration catch from Franklin's name, 
And bravelj struggling with each adverse tide, 
Shine forth his countrj^s patron and her pride ; 
Contented let me die ! tho' o'er my lowlj tomb 
No prouder trophy wave, no brighter laurel 
bloom ! 



THE END. 



NOTES. ^ 



NOTE A. 

Rogers — shall charm alike the sage or swam. 
Samuel Rogers, a British poet, of the present day, and author^ 
airong others, of two fine poems, the one entitled The Pleasjire^^ the 
other The Fains of Memory. 

NOTE B. 

Jind damrCd his race to win a woman^s smile. 
Whether love, as some learned commentators have suggested, ou. 
the part of our common mother Eve, was the real cause or not, of 
our fallen state, it does not hecome us to decide. We leave the spi- 
ritual sense of that portion of Scripture, to those whose peculiar pro- 
vince it is, to unfold the mysteries of religion. Admitting we are 
right, however, and the following portrait be correctly drawn ; and 
forbid it, all ye Loves and Graces, that we should think otherwise ; u 
stronger plea for the man of Eden can scarcely be framed on princi- 
ples of charity : It is said to be an extract from an old play, entitled 
Cupid'' s Whirligig : — " Who would abuse your sex that knows it ? O 
woman, were we not born of you — should we not then honour you ? 
Nursed by you, and not regard you ? Made for you, and not seek 
you ? And since we were made before you, should we not live and 
adore you as the last and most perfect work of nature ? Man was 
made when Nature was but an apprentice, but Woman when she was a 
skilful mistress of her art. By your love we live in double breath, 
even in our offspring after death. Are not all vices masculine, and 
virtues feminine ? Are not the Muses the loves of the learned ? Do 
not all noble spirits follow the Graces because they are women ? 
There is but one phoenix, and she is a female. Was not the princess 
and foundress of good arts, Minerva, born of the brain of highest 
Jove, a woman ? Has not a woman the face of love, the tongue of 
persuasion, and the body of dehght ? O divine perfectioned woman, if 
to be of thy sex is so excellent, what is it then to be a woman enrich- 
ed by nature, made excellent by education, noble by birth, chaste by 



70 

virtue, adorned by beauty ! — a fair woman, which is the ornament of 
heaven, the grace of earth, the joy of hfe, and the deUght of all sense, 
even the very summum bonum of man's existence." 

NOTE F. 
A part of this prayer I wrote and published in the Plough Boy of 
June 24, 1820, under the signature of H. H. Jr. 

NOTE L. 

The wisest, greatest, best of human kind. 

The indifference of too many to what is excellent in human nature, 
on the one hand ; the envy, malice, and ingratitude, which rarely 
fail to persecute it on the other ; were never, perhaps, more striking- 
ly exemplified than in the fate of Fhancis Bacon, who held the office 
of chancellor in England, under the reign of James I. and whose un- 
rivalled genius and profound learning were the admiration of man- 
kind, so far as they were known both at home and abroad. 

When we open Pope, and read these lines — 

"Do parts allure thee, learn how Bacon shin'd, 
" The wisest, greatest, meanest of mankind," 

we are shocked at the mean spirit of the Poet, which, after the mighty 
sage had slumbered so long in the tomb, could thus conceive and hand 
down to posterity, a calumny which faction alone had fixed upon the 
character of Bacon, at a time when the splendour of his genius 
eclipsed every competitor, and when the native dignity and gene- 
rosity of his soul were displayed in such exalted deeds of beneficence, 
as are rarely, indeed, to be met with in the annals of mankind. 

As our admiration of Bacon has increased with every perusal of 
his works, which stand unrivalled in the literary and scientific world ; 
and as every view of his character, which we have been able to take, 
has exalted it in our estimation, we are determined to leave on re- 
cord our humble protest — humble, indeed, we admit, bjit not the less 
sincere and ardent — against the standing calumny of Pope : We say 
the standing calumny of Pope, because although he borrowed the 
spirit of his slanderous epigram from historical records ; yet tliese re- 
cords, being the offspring of faction, may be lost in oblivion, when his 
verse will remain to charm the ear of taste, while it perverts the prin- 
ciples of justice, in every circle into which a ray of refinement shall 
have found its way. 

Had we no other evidence to prove the couplet of Pope a gross 
and infamous aspersion upon one of the best, and certainly the bright- 



71 -^r-^ 

est, of men, that the land of our fathers ever prodi the 
Bacon's will, which is now before us, would stam h' 

most despicable cast. " My name and memory," s 
to men's charitable speeches, and to foreign nations, 
ages." What, we ask, but a great soul, conscious of' 
a noble spirit, which soared with majestic flight abov( 
of sycophants and courtiers, who envied what thej^ . 
late, and strove to extinguish the light whose beams \ 
liant for their puny optics to encounter : What, Ave demant 
rit pure and unsullied in its own estimation, and far above the i^ 
suits of mean ambition or mercenary gain, could calmly and delibcx 
ly, in the contemplation of approaching dissolution, appeal to posterity 
and to foreign nations, for that justice, which the envy and malignity / 
of his own countrymen, in his own times, so unjustly denied ! Depart- 
ed, sainted sage I Proud star of genius, and heir of eternal fame ! — 
Thou art now mingling with the spirits of just men made perfect ! But 
the benign bequest thou hast left to posterity, they must receive with 
gratitude. They will justify thy confidence, by exalting thy memory, 
and guarding it from every invasion of malice, detraction, and re- 
venge I 

But we shall not rest upon declamation, in this attempt to vindicate 
from aspersion, the character of a man, whose genius exhausted the 
fountains of philosophy, and shed a halo of glory, unfading as time, 
around the spot which gave him birth. 

Thus far we had written in 1821, as introductory to several es- 
says intended for the Plough Boy. But certain unavoidable avoca- 
tions intervened, and prevented us from proceeding at that time with 
our contemplated essays, in vindication of the long persecuted, and 
much injured memory of Bacon. We did not then dream of writing 
The Pleasures of Poverty ; and it cannot be expected we should bring 
into a note like this, what we iatencied should fill several essavs. 
Besides, the subject has since been handled by a superior pen. The 
editor of the North American Review has written a masterly vindica- 
tion of the persecuted chancellor, in a review of his hfe, by Mallet. The 
reader will find it in the 39th number of that valuable publication, which 
does honour to the literary character of our country. We shall, 
therefore, at present content ourselves with rebutting the epigram of 
Pope, by quoting what has been said of Bacon, by those Avho were, 
to say the least, full as capable of forming a correct opinion of his 



72 

mB nUior of that epigram ; and shall close with a fe\pj 
^ pertinent to the occasion. 

-tgists of Bacon, — and in opposition to the slanders of 
Adon, and other libellers, from whom Pope caught his 
•ion — we find the illustrious names of Sir Walter Ra- 
ison ; Sir Henry Walton ; Bishop Sprat ; Archbishop 
oyle ; Dr. Power ; Bishop Nicholson ; Mr. Addison ; 
, Duke of Buckinghamshire ; Mr. Verture ; Grotius ; 
Buddeus ; D'Alembert ; Voltaire ; and several others ; 
^uished by literary fame ; all known in the annals of science 
. ilosophy ; and, generally speaking, as ftmous for private as foF 
'public virtue. These are all zealous, nay enthusiastic, in their ap- 
probation of the genius and tdlents of Bacon ; and not one of them 
stoops to hint any thing in disparagement of his virtue. Sir Walter 
Raleigh speaks of him as one of the most eloquent of men, as well as 
the ablest of writers. Ben Johnson says — " My conceit of his person 
" was never increased towards him by his place and honours, — but I 
" have, and do reverence him for the greatness that was only proper 
" to himself, in that he seemed to me, by his works, one of the 
'* greatest men, and most worthy of admiration that had been in many 
*' ages. In his adversity I ever prayed, that God would give him 
" strength ; for greatness he could not want ; neither could 1 condole 
" in a word or syllable for him, as knowing no accident could do 
" harm to virtue, but rather help to make it manifest." Archbishop 
Williams speaks of him as the author of matchless works. Sir Henry 
Walton writes to him, in relation to his JS^ovum Organum, thus : — 
" Your Lordship hath done a great and everlasting benefit to all the 
*' children of nature, and to nature herself, in her utmost extent of 
" latitude, who never before had so noble, nor so true an interpre- 
'' ter." Bishop Nicholson styles him " the incomparable sir Francis 
" Bacon." John Sheftield, duke of Buckinghamshire, asserts " That 
" all his works are for expression, as well as thought, the glory of our 
"nation, and of all latter ages." After his fall, the university of 
Oxford wrote liim a flattering letter, in which he was compared to 
some mighty Hercules in learning. Cowley, as great a poet as Pope, 
" did him all the justice that could be expected from one vast genius 
"' to another." Mr. Boyle, himself an eminent philosopher, styles 
" Bacon " an illustrious philosopher." Puffendorf calls him the chief 
writer of his age. Voltaire styles him " the father of experimental 



of the most vigorous as well as beautiful cast, am 
for being founded in truth. Mr. Addison, in his Sa 
the Spectator and Tatler, generally chose some then 
religion, as appropriate to the approaching Sabbath. 
the Tatler, {or Saturday, Dec. 23, 1710, he undert 
those who had, in all ages, been most conspicuous for 
quirements, had also been the most eminent for thei 
the religion of their country. " I shall,'' says he, " m 
♦' instance Sir Francis Bacon, a man, who for the greatnes. 
" and compass of knowledge, did honour to his age and coi 
•' could almost say to human nature itself. He possessed at or 
" those extraordinary talents which were divided amongst the gi .s 
" authors of antiquity. He had the sound, distinct, comprehensive 
" knowledge of Aristotle, with all the beautiful lights, graces, and em- 
" bellishments of Cicero. One does not know which to admire most 
" in his writings, the strength of reason, force of style, or brightness 
" of imagination. I was infinitely pleased to find among the works of 
" this extraordinary man, a prayer of his own composing, which, for 
" the elevation of thought, and greatness of expression, seems rather 
" the devotion of an angel than a man. His principal fault seems to 
" have been the excess of that virtue which covers a multitude of faults, 
" This betrayed him into great indulgence towards his servants, 
" who made so corrupt a use of it, that it stripped him of all those 
" riches and honours, which a long series of merits had heaped upon 
" him. But in ibis prayer, at the s ima time that we find him pro.'^trat- 
" ing himself before the great Mercy Seat, and humbled under afflic- 
" tions which at that time lay heavy upon him, we see him supported 
*' by the force of his integrity, his zeal, his de-votion, and his love to 
" mankind, which gave him a much higher figure in the min !s of 
" thinking men, than that greatness had done, from which he Wiis fali- 
" en." 

We perfectly agree with Mr. Addison, in relation to the prayer, 
which he gives at length ; " not being able," he says, " to furnish my 
*' readers with an entortiinrnent more suitable to this solemn time," 
Nor can we add any thing so appropriate as this prayer, as an appen- 
dix to a work, intended to console the poor man in his poverty, as 
well as to wtrn the rich agunst that security and confidence, with 
which they are too apt to repose upon their wealth. 

10 



74 

THE PRAYER. 

Lord God, my merciful Father ; from my youth up, 

tedeemer, my comforter. Thou, O Lord, soundest 

'.e depths and secrets of all hearts ; thou acknow- 

^ht of heart; thou judgest the hypocrite ; thou pon- 

ughts and doings as in a balance ; thou measurest their 

.^^h a line ; vanity and crooked ways cannot be hid from 

mber, O Lord ! how thy servant hath walked before thee ; 
tioer what I have first sought, and what hath been principal in 
entions. I have loved thy assemblies, I have mourned for the 
divisions of thy church, I have delighted in the brightness of thy sanc- 
tuary. This vine, which thy right hand hath planted in this nation, 
I have ever prayed unto thee that it might have the first and the lat- 
ter rain, and that it might stretch her branches to the seas and to the 
floods. The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been 
precious in mine eyes ; I have h ited all cruelty and hardness of heart ; 
1 have (though in a despised weed) procured the good of all men. 
If any have been mine enemies, I thought not of them ; neither hath 
the sun almost set upon my displeasure ; but 1 have been as a dove, 
free from superfluity of maliciousness. Thy creatures have been my 
books, but thy Scriptures much more. I have sought thee in the 
courts, fields, and gardens, but I have found thee in thy temples. 

" Thousands have been my sins, and ten thousands my transgres- 
sions, but thy sanctifications have remained with me, and my heart 
(through thy grace) hath been an unquenched coal upon thine altar. 

" O Lord, my strength ! 1 have since my youth met thee in all my 
ways, by thy fatherly compassions, by thy comfortable chastisements, 
and by thy most visible Providence, as thy fivours have increased 
upon me, so have thy corrections ; so as thou hast been always near 
me, O Lord ! And ever as my worldly blessings were exalted, so se- 
cret darts from thee have pierced me ; and when I have ascended be- 
fore men, I have descended in humiliation before thee. And now 
when I thought most of peace and honour, thy hand is heavy upon 
me, and hath humbled me according to thy former loving kindness, 
keeping me still in thy fatherly school, not as a bastard, but as a child. 
Just are thy judgments upon me for my sins, which are more in num- 
ber than the sands of the sea, but have no proportion to thy mercies J 
for what are the sands of the sea ? Earth, Heavens, and all these, are 



75 ^^:^--<i,*^ 

nothing to thy mercies. Besides my innumerab^ 
fore thee, that I am debtor to thee for the gracio 
and graces, which I have neither put into a nsipk 
thought) to exchangers, where it might have maa 
mispent it in things for which 1 was least fit : So as 
my soul hath been a stranger in the course of B^y 
merciful unto me, O Lord, for my Saviour's sake, 
unto thy bosom, or guide me in thy w.oys." 

From the concurring testimony of so many illustrious i 
genius of Bacon, not one of whom makes the slightest attncK 
virtue ; it is fair to presume, that they had sufficient reasoi 
lieve, as we do, that the charges of bribery and corruption, .. y»^ 
produced his downfall, were the offspring of faction and personal ma- 
lice. It is true, that the several historians of England, not excepting 
even Hume, have concurred in condemning him. But this, in our 
estimation, is but another proof of the gross fallacy of History, which 
rarely combines cause and effect, and almost for ever leads astray, in- 
stead of enlightening those who look to it for correct and impartial 
views. Hume acknowledges, " that it had been usual for some 
Chancellors to take presents." He then adds, " and it is pre- 
" tended that Bacon, who followed the same dangerous practice, had 
" still in the seat of Justice, preserved the integrity of a judge, and 
*' had given just decrees against those very persons, from whom he 
" had received the wages of iniquity." " It '\s pretended .'" says Mr. 
Hume ; but how could so accute an historian talk of that as a mere 
pretence, which has been shewn by indubitable evidence to have been 
solemn matter of fact. It is not pretended ; for we boldly assert it 
as a fact, confirmed by every history of the times, that whatever pre- 
sents Bacon may have received from suitors, no decree of his was 
ever set aside by the House of Lords, on the grounds of partiality or 
corruption ; and it is not possible, therefore, to fix corruption upon 
him, without involving the monstrous improbabilily, that the House 
of Lords, or the principal members, were co-partners in his crime, 
and equal sharers of the profits ! Away then, for ever, with this in- 
famous calumny 5 and let the truth be known, which is, that Bacon 
was too great to be safe in such times, and among such men as sur- 
rounded him. The mean malice of Coke, a mere lawyer, destitute 
of genius, and at the same time devoured with ambition, could not 
brook a rival near the throne. The Cecils, whose influence vv'ith 
Elizabeth was great, partook of the same mean, cold, phlegmatic 



76 

actuated Coke, They represented Bacon as a 

ve m;in ; in the same manner that such men as 

N, Edmond C. Genet, and the learned Dr. Mitch- 

represented as visionary, in our times, by the most 

» literary" and political aspirants. But when in spite 

ts, this " visionary'''' genius rose and continued t® 

-J, their malice lost all bounds, and combining with a 

c, worked at last the overtlirow of their illustrious rival, 

s of whose shoes not one of his persecutors was worthy 

v/se. 

/e is in f ict a letter of Bacon's extant, which of itself furnish- 
u •. -J slight evidence, that he fell a victim to the spirit of the times, 
and not to the spirit of rapacity or fraud within his own breast : And 
though a letter, written by himself, may be objected to as evidence 
in this case; yet considering the spirit which it breathes, we look 
upon it as a very strong, if not conclusive proof of his innocence. 
It was addressed to Buckingham, and contains the following eloquent 
passage : — " Your Lordship spoke of Purgatory. I am now in it. 
" But my mind is in a calm ; for my fortune is not my felicity. I knozv 
" I have clean hands and a clean heart. But Job himself, or whoso- 
" ever was the justest judge, by such hunting for matters against him, 
" as hath been used against me, may for a time seem foul, especially 
*' in a time when greatness is the mark, and accusation is the game." 
But no protestations of his own, nor proofs on the part of others, 
however forcible, could avail against the predominant spirit of fac- 
tion, and of personal envy and malice. For reasons of State, which 
may, perhaps, for ever remain among the dark and inexplicable phe- 
nomena of cabinet intrigue, he was forced in another place, and on a dif- 
ferent occasion, to confessions, which were construed into proof of 
guilt. And as on this ground of his own confessions, his enemies 
have made their firmest stand, we shall briefly remark, that with ev- 
ery confession he made, he adduced explanatory and palliating cir- 
cumstances, satisfactory to every impartial and candid investigator ; 
that, as before observed", his confessions were extorted by a power 
which had the control of his destiny : And moreover, let it be recol- 
lected that every man, however great in intellect, is not equally firm 
in trying times. The immortal Sidney, under like circumstances, 
declared, and acted up to the declaration, that when God had brought 
him into a situation, in which he must either tell a he, or lose his 



77 

"^y ■ ' "" 
how many are there, who with perhaps greater vi 
spects, than Sidney possessed, would find their c 
brought to the test, with the appalHng instrument* of 
It is not, then, a matter of surprise, that a man 
amiable, and benevolent temper, should shrink from) 
which he had to encounter, and even stoop to admii, 
cumstances, what, though it were not literally ant- 
might contribute to allay the popular fury, and save his he- 
are men whose brutal, or animal courage, will bear them t 
non's mouth ; but who are destitute of every moral virtue, and t 
generous feeling, or shining talent ; there are others, timid ah. 
the hare, but endowed with every gift and grace of virtue, and of 
talent that can adorn and dignify hum;',n nature. Of the latter Cice, 
Ro was an example — of t le former, examples are every day before 
us. The courage of the former may perhaps be styled mental fe- 
rocity ; that of the latter, so far as they possess any, mental philo- 
sophy. 

Nor are we to wonder at the fate of this extraordinary and liigh- 
gifted man, when we reflect that three of the (greatest and bestof ihe 
ancients — Demosthenes, Cicero, and Seneca — were condemned and 
punished as criminals pretty much in the same way : And when we 
look around us in our own times, and in our own country, and see 
misguided multitudes, or deceived, or partial executives, frequently 
elevating men of inferior capacity, and depressing at the same time 
the greatest geniuses we have among us : When, for some slight dif- 
ference of opinion, or venial error, at the worst, we see talents 
and virtue excluded from public employment, and ignorance, if not 
profligacy, perched upon high places : When we see mean artifice, 
low cunning, and dark intrigue, rise superior to candour, wisdom, 
and integrity. In short, when we see a Pickering, one of the ear- 
ly founders of our Republic, driven, in the decline of life, to the 
labours of the field for daily bread ; and behold at the same time, a 
Van Ness, that warm-hearted, generous man ; that exalted genius, 
the ornament of Jurisprudence, a Demosthenes at the Forum, a 
Mansfield on the Bench, sink into a premature grave, the victim of 
popular prejudice and relentless persecution ; we are no longer sur- 
prised that Bacon, whose benevolence embraced the welfare of the 
human race, whose mind was enlightened by the wisdom of ages, and 
whose genius seems to have caught its all-pervading fire directly from 
the throne of the Eternal ; should have fallen a sacrifice to the stu- 



^^f^^' 



78 



'], and the ass, united to the cruel malignity of the 

er ! It was because the reptile of Eden could not 

'and noble attitude, the superior gifts and graces of 

''^.sinuated his fatal poison into the ear of Eve, and 

'less contribute to the gratification of his stupid infer- 

lie downfall of his rival ; the ruin of a world ! 
J 

NOTE P. 

? Shall penury repress your noble rage. 

iiiU penury repress'd their noble rage, 
/.nd froze the genial current of the soul. Gray. 

NOTE R. 
This Address to Love, I wrote and published in the Plough-Boyof 
July 15, 1820, under the signature of H. H. Jr. 

NOTE U. 

Aud mark the melancholy fate of Paine! 
No page in history, stained as it is with treachery and falsehood, 
or cold-blooded indiflerence to right and wrong, exhibits a more dis- 
graceful instance of public ingratitude, than that which Thomas Paine 
experienced from an age and country, which he had so faithfully 
served. As the Tyrtaeus of the revolution, and it is no exaggera- 
tion to style him such, we owe everlasting gratitude to his name and 
memory. Why then was he suffered to sink into the most wretched 
poverty and obscurity, after having in both hemispheres so signally 
distinguished himself as the friend of liberty and mankind ? Was his 
religion, or rather his want of religion, the real or affected cause ? 
Did not those who feared his talents, make his religion a pretext not 
only to treat him with cold neglect, but to strip him, if possible, of 
every laurel he had won, in the political field, as the brilliant, un- 
daunted, and successful advocate of Freedom ? As to his religion, or 
no religion, God alone must be the judge and arbiter of that. No 
human being, no human tribunal, can claim a righl even to censure 
him for it ; much less to make it the pretext for defrauding him, ei- 
ther in hfe or in death, of the reward, due to his patriotism, or the le- 
gitimate fame of his exertions in the cause of oppressed humanity. 
Had Thomas Paine ever been guilty of any crime, we should be the 
last to eulogise his memory. But we cannot find, that he ever was 
guilty of any other crime, than that of advancing his opinions freely 



■■^P 79 

lof his opinions, since we know that his intentions 
Wfciv, - are bound to cover his errors with the mantle of cha- 

rity. We cannot say here, all that we could wish to say. A 1 
note is insufficient, and this note must necessarily be brief, to do jus- 
tice to so important a subject. We may, however, safely affirm that 
Mr. Paine's conduct in America was that of a real patriot. In the 
French convention he displayed the same pure and disinterested spi- 
rit ; there his humanity shone forth in his exertions to save, at the 
risk of his own head, the unfortunate Louis the XVlth. from the 
scaffold. His life, it is true, was written by a ministerial hireling, 
who strove in vain to blacken his moral character. The late Mr. 
James Cheetham likewise wrote his life ; and we have no hesitation 
in saying, that we knew perfectly well at the time the motives of that 
author for writing and publishing a work which we have every reason 
to believe is a libel, almost from beginning to end. In fact, Mr. 
Cheetham had become tired of this country, and had formed a plan 
to return to England, and become a ministerial Editor in opposition to 
Mr. Cobbett ; and his life of Paine was written to pave his way back 
again. We presume he acted upon the principle, that the end justi- 
fied the means ; and besides we believe, that he had totally changed 
his political principles from conviction, and felt the same zeal against 
every thing republican, that he had before felt against every thing 
that belonged to aristocracy or monarchy ; and hence was the more 
easily led to believe in all the calumnies propagated against Mr. 
Paine ; to whose memory we feel bound, by truth and justice alone, 
to pay the feeble tribute which this note conveys. Had Thomas 
Paine been a Grecian or a Roman patriot, in the olden times, and 
performed the same public services as he did for this country, he 
would have had the honour of an apotheosis. The Pantheon would 
have been opened to him ; and we should at this day, perhaps, re- 
gard his memory with the same veneration that we do that of Socrates 
or Cicero. But posterity will do him justice. Tim^ that desroys 
Envy and establishes Truth, will clothe his character in the habili- 
ments that justly belong to it. In fact at this moment, the one half, 
or more, of New-England, where he has been the most abused on 
account of his religion, have adopted a creed so much resembling his, 
that they have not the same groiuid as formerly, to quarrel with his 
memory on that account. Believing the gospel of Christ the purest 
fountain of religion and morality that ever the world witnessed, we 
do not approve of Mr. Paine's public attacks upon the character and 



y«^ 



80 

principles of its great author. But as we hav 

that account Mr. Paine must settle at that tribunal from 

ppe;il. In the mean time, we cannot resist the disposition to say, 
Lii.it in suffering the tomb of the author of Common Sense, The Crisis, 
and The Rights of Man, to lie neglected in the first place, and se- 
condly, in permitting it to be violated, and his bones shipped off to a 
foreign country, contrary to all the laws of decency and civilization ; 
we have added nothing to the justice or dignity of our national char- 
acter ; and shiiU rejoice if impartial history tax us not with a gross 
departure from both. 

NOTE V. 

Brave, but eccentric Lee, ill-fated name ! 
Charles Lee, Mnjor General, and second in command to General 
Washington, during the revolution. This gentleman was an English- 
man by birth, and a soldier by profession. As early as 1739, we 
find him Major of the 44th regiment at Albany. He afterwards re- 
turned to Europe, and served in 1762, with distinction, under Gen- 
eral Burgoyne, in the service of Portugal. He made subsequently 
the tour of Europe, and became a favourite of the brave and popular, 
but unfortunate Stanislaus, King of Poland. He embarked volun- 
tarily, and with enthusiasm, in the cause of this country as early as 
1773. At the battle of Monmouth, he had the misfortune to differ 
with General Washington, and was in consequence tried and convict- 
ed by a court-marti d for disobedience of orders, &c. and was driven 
into obscurity, after having with the greatest magnanimity and gene- 
rosity, exhausted a large portion of his fortune, besides the repeated 
risk of his life in the most gallant manner, in the cause of American 
Freedom. Many of the mo.-t distinguished men of the revolution 
concurred in believing his sentence wholly iinjust ; and whoever in- 
vestigates the subject, free from illusion and partiality, will be of the 
same opinion. This illustrious hero and philanthropist, died at an 
obscure tavSrn in Philadelphia, on the 2d of October, 1782. For 
further particulars, the reader is referred to his Memoirs, Essays, Sic. 
an edition of which was published by Richard Scott, New-York, 1813. 



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